


Mark of the Dead

by orphan_account



Series: The Beacon Hills Bureau of Investigation [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Best Friends, Bromance, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Friendship, Future Fic, Ghosts, Hurt, Hurt Derek, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Sheriff Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Near Future, Pack Feels, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 06, Stiles-centric, Stilinski Family Feels, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Part one of the Beacon Hills Bureau of InvestigationDuring a college break, Stiles is asked by his father to help investigate a mysterious case of a girl who refused to leave her basement bedroom. Believing the girl is possessed, Stiles and the Sheriff go to the house to talk with the girl, not realizing that by doing so, they’re unleashing a possible greater evil, and that their friends might come too late to save them.I received a challenge: Could you write a story about the Stilinski family going out on a case together now that Stiles is going to join the FBI?  Something with Noah showing his son how to treat cases, but winding up learning about the supernatural instead? Since I adore the Stilinski’s, I thought this would be a fun idea to work on and then I got thinking in the lines of a mini-X-Files kind of series, where Stiles, his dad and the pack go out and hunt supernatural/paranormal cases in Beacon Hills during college breaks.I write Stiles-centric stories with a lot of angst, hurt/comfort, friendship and family feels into it. Stiles and Lydia are a canon couple, but there are no romantic scenes, they're a team working together alongside their friends. Derek has moved back to Beacon Hills.





	1. Chapter 1

Mark of the dead

Part one of the Beacon Hills Bureau of Investigation

 

During a college break, Stiles is asked by his father to help investigate a mysterious case of a girl who refused to leave her basement bedroom. Believing the girl is possessed, Stiles and the Sheriff go to the house to talk with the girl, not realizing that by doing so, they’re unleashing a possible greater evil.

 

A little background story: I received a challenge with the following theme: Could you write a story about the Stilinski family going out on a case together now that Stiles is going to join the FBI?  Something with Noah showing his son how to treat cases, but winding up learning about the supernatural instead?

Since I adore the Stilinski’s, I thought this would be a fun idea to work on and then I got thinking in the lines of a mini-X-Files kind of series, where Stiles, his dad and the pack go out and hunt supernatural/paranormal cases in Beacon Hills during college breaks.

So here it is: The first story in this new series.

As always, I write Stiles-centric stories with a lot of angst, hurt/comfort, friendship and family feels into it. In my universe, Stiles and Lydia are a canon item but there are no romantic scenes or anything like that. They are a team working together alongside their friends. Derek will be part of the stories that I’m thinking about and has moved back to Beacon Hills.

Hope you enjoy!

 

**Chapter One**

 

The basement bedroom carries a chill that's worse than anything I have ever experienced in ghostlike-phenomenon. Well, not that I have much experience, apart from being possessed by a thousand-year-old demon once. And then there was that little titbit of a Ghost Rider-train station filled with passive people. Anyhow, back to the point.

Usually, in ghost-like universes, as Lydia has explained it to me from her Banshee experiences and how it felt to me too, a cold hand grips your heart, warning you there is something out there lurking, waiting for you. You can feel the entity in the room, and you just know that you're being watched, and that this thing means business.

You resist the urge to flee the scene, to just run away screaming and pretend nothing’s wrong. Only the strong remain, but the weak are long gone, chased by deadly fear.

 

In this case however, the chill is so real that it makes you want to escape this haunted house, or even keep on running towards another town, afraid that the coldness is destructive and downright murderous. That it will pursue you to the end of the world.

It's common for ghostly appearances to want to chase humans away. The entities don't want you in their surroundings, disturbing their ethereal world. All exorcists and so-called paranormal experts will testify to this. Scaring people in order to regain their rest is all they can really do. Poltergeists that attack and kill are exceedingly rare, but they are still out there. Ghost Riders, remember? They are some sort of supernatural force of nature, could be considered “ghosts”, hence the name.

‘Regular’ entities haunt, move things around houses and drive people insane, but they have no physical means of destruction. That’s what we are hoping for here too. What I’m guessing when I look at my dad’s gun, knowing it has no use in this place.

I do understand what entities are going through. You see, their world collides with ours, they are no longer a part of our universe, but desperately want to be. Or perhaps they just want to move in and observe us and use that against us.

In all facts, they're not happy with their current state of existence, being forced between that's netherworld of life and death in a plain of existence that's inapproachable by us mortals on normal occasions. Then again, this is Beacon Hills and nothing is ever normal around here. Only a few of us humans can enter that realm to see what it is like, but a real Banshee can cross the line, which made me leave Lydia at home while dad and I went out scouting, believing it would be okay to have a first look around before involving the others.

 

Of course, that wound up ending with both of us getting pretty badly hurt. My dad is lying out cold next to me, definitely harmed quite a bit. His gun lies on the ground, his wrist is bleeding and his hand is probably broken. He’s bleeding from a cut in the back of his head. And he’s pretty much completely out of it.

As for me, I’m not faring much better, apart from the fact that I’m still relatively conscious, albeit probably not for much longer. I can feel blood dripping down the side of my face and my body is gradually going into shock.

I know that we made an error of judgment when we figured it would be just a talk with an innocent kid, instead of an attack of the supernatural. Dad still believes a lot of things happening in Beacon Hills are non-supernatural related. Sometimes they are, often they are a bit odd on the edges but still kind of explainable. This one is definitely completely out there, but he failed to mention how much, believing a gun can fix a lot of issues. I went with him at his request. He called it a father-son police-FBI bonding session, a way of showing me the ropes of my future life from his own experience.

Dad is a very good sheriff, there was no reason why he would have misjudged this. And it had been calm in Beacon Hills for a while, no signs of a new superpower attacking us. I thought it would be okay to go with him, without warning the others, knowing they were all busy and wanted to spend some time with their families.

Being cautious about protecting the ones you love, often results in doing the exact opposite. By leaving my friends out of the equation, by thinking dad’s investigation would be limited to scouting the house and trying to get more clearance on what was going on in there, we already crossed the otherworldly bridge and paid a huge price for it.

 

I should tell you how we got into this situation in the first place. How my dad and I wound up being badly wounded in the compounds of a house we can’t escape anymore.  How we misjudged this situation.

I started out in the pre-FBI program about four months ago and went home during my first long break, where I found Beacon Hills in relative peace. Meaning, things were as they always were. Supernatural happenings were at a limited amount, but there were still some odd reports about beings and creatures nobody could explain.

Scott came home too, as well as Lydia. Lydia picked me up from George Washington again, after which we made the long drive home. I’ve flown back and forth a couple of times to see her, and we’ve Skyped all the time, which made things easier. Both of us have been very busy with our studies, but we managed to find enough space to continue our relationship.

As far as Scott’s concerned, he’s doing really, really well in his studies. He loves what he’s doing, he knows what he wants to become and he’s going for it. We Skype and call all the time, I’m at an average of about twenty or so text messages per day with him. We miss each other, but it’s okay, we know that we’ll always find each other again, no matter what. I’ve seen him three times since I moved into my dorm, and we hung out just like old days.

Malia studies near Beacon Hills and comes home every night, so she was definitely going to be there as well too. The ‘younger pack’ as I call them, are still doing their thing around Beacon Hills, going to school and chasing things at night. I’m actually proud of Mason for using my beloved bat for good cause. He’s getting the swing of things, so to speak. Liam is doing really well too, he’s settling into his role as young Alpha without the status, as I call it. He grew up a lot in the past year.

Kira came back, by the way and she’s back with Scott. She finished her high school degree through a special program and is now thinking about becoming a vet too, which would definitely suit her. I can just imagine the two of them having their own practice and at one point taking over Deaton’s.

Peter’s still around, as well as Theo, but fortunately neither are something I have to deal with. And the biggest surprise of all: Derek came back and settled back into his loft, which I’m really pleased about. I’ve missed our grumpy werewolf quite a bit and it’s good to have him back in his mentor role, both for Scott and Liam.

As for me? Well, I know what you’re thinking: I’m going to be some big shot FBI-agent shooting up the bad guys, right? Well, yes and no. I love this program more than I ever thought would be possible. I’m going to get a lot of chances and become someone I want to be, but I’ll never be a regular agent solving murder mysteries only. I’m too much into the paranormal and supernatural for that.

Without running the risk of becoming the new _Fox Stiles_ , I am actually trying to figure out how to be involved into the supernatural while being an FBI-agent at one point at the same time. I’ve talked to Deaton about this whole Emissary thing and what that means, and he was very positively surprised, as he feels I have the qualities and personality for it.

Remember that Spark-thing he once told me? He said it was due to the sheer of my own will that I managed to help my friends and that this is also the reason why I survived the Nogitsune, Donovan and the Ghost Riders. He was very happy to learn that I was able to defeat the Riders by remembering who I was and why I was there, which, according to him, was rare. He says I have a huge power of will inside of me, and that is time to start using that to the benefit of my friends.

I don’t have any magic in me, I’m sure of that. But I still have my ‘self’.

Which is part of the reason why I am here now too. I sensed, I participated and then I got myself into trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely comments I received and for liking this story!  
> This story is written in full, so I'll be posting every 2 days.

**Chapter Two**

 

There are people who can see ghosts, regular people who don’t have any supernatural powers, but just have that ability. Like Wendy Stevens, for example. Ten-year-old Wendy doesn't want to leave her basement room anymore, not even while the chills run down our spines and cold wind surrounds us. This wind is chillier than anything you would ever think you'd experience, and it’s haunting us.

The girl sits on her basement bedroom bed, staring right through us. I know she's been in this state of mind for a few days now, from what her parents told us, and I fear that her sanity might already have been lost by everything she's seen and done. She has that odd look in her eyes that you get from seeing things you can’t explain. I’ve seen it in others too.

Wendy is like that little Poltergeist-girl: A conduit between their world and ours. She’s not a Banshee, nor can she boast about supernatural powers. She’s just different, because they chose her to be. Only, she volunteers to be so. She has the sense to leave this place, but can't bring herself to do so. The begging, the pleading, asking and praying doesn't help to persuade her. She stays put, because they asked her to represent her.

At night, so she tells my dad, who is very patient with kids, she dreams about the ghosts in this house. They are everywhere and they are angry. She doesn't know why, or what they want from her and she's powerless in her attempts to communicate with them. Yet she feels she is being swept away by them at the same time, feelings protected somehow. They suck her into their void and she wants to be there. I know how that feels too.

Wendy feels that her family is responsible for this situation and she’s angry with them. They brought it upon themselves too, or so she claims. She is only ten years old, but bears the mark of those who have seen too much for their tender age. She's frightened, yet strong, she reminds me of that girl from _Stranger Things_ , with hair.

By the time we got there, Wendy has already chosen the side of the ghosts, believing their stories being revealed to her in her dreams. Although, she cannot explain any of them, because she only remembers fleeting parts of it. And so she sits on her bed, refusing to eat or drink, or do anything until someone, somehow, has found a solution for her ‘friends'. When we ask her whom those friends are, she points to the wall and says, "That's who they are."

 

Last Saturday, Wendy spent the day drawing an amazing sketch of a group of four people. She used pencils and charcoal to create their faces on the white wallpaper. It's a stunning image, so vivid that you get the impression of haunting in their eyes. I’m horrified, yet strangely attracted to the drawing.

The family looks strangely happy on it. Their expressions are a confusing mixture of pleasantries and joy. Four faces, gathered in that one picture, stare back at you. There's a husband and wife, I'd say they would be around fortysomething, and two children: a very young boy and a girl. The girl looks startlingly like Wendy, but her hair and eyes are different. They could have been siblings, and then not. Strangely enough, Wendy has drawn a huge X over the man's face.

"Who are they, Wendy?" I ask her when I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the drawing, and she glances up at me. She's not happy to see me, even though she has no idea who I am. She’s probably wondering why a kid like me is here in the first place, why the sheriff is taking me with him when he has so many decent deputies he could count on.

"They don't like you," she says coolly. "You have driven away their kind before, you shouldn't be here. And you shouldn’t even think about getting the Banshee here either.”

I'm shocked by her words. I’ve never encountered an actual spirit before, but she’s referring without a doubt to the Ghost Riders, whose realm I have escaped thanks to Lydia, Scott and Malia. It’s the emotional tether with Lydia that pulled me out, but she would never have been able to do it without my other two friends.

I kneel by her bedside and try to touch Wendy’s arm, but she shrugs me off. "Get out of here now before you get hurt. They don't like you in their house, _Emissary._ ”

With that, my dad stares at me in shock. Did I forget the part where I haven’t told anyone apart from Deaton about my intents yet? I shrug and brush off the girl’s words, knowing now that she knows it all, handed to her on a plate by demons of the night.

"I want to help you," I tell her, not persuaded to go just like that, while my dad becomes more uncomfortable by the second and obviously wonders what the hell he has gotten me into. "And I want to help _them._ ”

In the back of my head I scream for Lydia. She is needed her and we need to get her and Scott to be here too as soon as I can.

"I have my friends, that’s enough for me. Get lost,” Wendy snaps, her voice different than it was before. I was mistaken, this is not Poltergeist, but it very well may be The Exorcist.

Wendy’s obviously not normally the type of girl who would be unfriendly towards her peers. She seems nice enough. Only today her face is distorted in scornful anger. Dad is watching me horrified, with no clue on what he has to do. He’s so afraid I’m getting myself in over my head that he wants to drag me out of this place with all of his might. He knows I’ll refuse though. This girl needs our help and I won’t budget just yet.

Her outfit suddenly pulls my attention towards it. The kid wears a cute T-shirt with a painted duck on it, and the words _Dance with Me_ are written in old lettering underneath it. It seems old somehow, and torn, as if she’s worn it for ages. Yet it fits her small frame perfectly. I look at it a moment, then look up into her eyes and see something strange in there too. She doesn't like my open curiosity. Or maybe _the thing_ that possesses her, doesn’t.

I feel we can't push Wendy. She's not quite in this world right now, and certainly not eager to talk to us. She will not be of much use, and even so, as a child, she would have to be handled very, very carefully. We have to find other means to get past her façade. I know that Dad feels the same as me.

As I glance at him, his eyes betray the fear he also feels. Even though he will never admit to it, he senses the ghostly pressure in this room too. Goosebumps on his arms prove attest to that. He's happy to leave the room, sighing deeply when her parents ask us to let their daughter be for now.

“These are not the Ghost Riders, I hope?” dad asks me quietly.

I shake my head. “It might be worse.”

The girl cannot be persuaded to leave her bedroom, so we step outside together, without her, even though I have this feeling she doesn’t have much time left. I know that these entities are strong, and probably have complete control over the house. We need to talk somewhere, but not in here.

“We need Lydia,” I whisper to my dad. “She might be able to communicate with this kid.”

“What about the others?”

“Unless werewolves are able to battle ghosts, I’m afraid they’re useless. This girl is possessed, dad.”

“Can’t Scott do that magic thing he does with his claws?” Dad asks. “He might be able to get into that girl’s head and see what’s going on.”

“She might be too frail to cope with this, but it is a possibility,” I agree. “I’ll call him.”

“You need to get out of here, Stiles,” dad warns me. “I think I misjudged the situation completely. This isn’t just a supernatural case, is it?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, “but I’m not leaving you alone out here either, dad. We will figure this out.”

Then I realize that this house might be listening in on what we’re saying, and I get a creepy sense that it’s alive somehow.

"Can we step outside to talk?" I ask her parents.

Wendy’s mother and father, and my dad and I, all walk into the garden. They look at me for comfort and reassurance, even my dad, as if I’m an expert, which I am becoming gradually, but still am not completely. I follow my gut feeling, senses of the supernatural and experience of what we’ve seen over the past years. But I am not a Ghostbuster or a hunter, not a Spark or a supernatural being myself. I guess sometimes it helps doing so much paranormal research and joining a pack of supernatural creatures, but these are my limits. I need to talk to Deaton about this too, but he’s out of town right now. At least the knowledge I have built up over the past years might help us.

"What the hell is wrong with our daughter, sheriff?" Mr. Stevens asks my dad. "I don't even recognize her anymore. She's completely changed since we moved in here. Damn it, I don't believe this is happening!"

"She's possessed, isn't she?" her mother voices fearfully, placing her hand before her mouth when she sees the expression on my face. "Oh god."

"Can we help her?" The father again.

"I will have to ask you first to remain calm," my dad says gently. "My son and I need to focus on the situation at hand, and we don't have much time, so it seems. Yes, I agree that there might be an entity in this house, and that your daughter might be influenced by it. I don't however believe she's possessed. Her head's not spinning on her shoulders at least."

“Are you seriously going into that direction?” the father snaps. “Is this a joke to you?”

"No, we are not. There are ways to deal with it," I interrupt, blocking my dad’s further reaction. "Often, we need to go back in time to find out where all of this started. In this case, it obviously began with the disappearance of the family who lived here twenty years ago, right after their claims of being haunted as well."

"They are dead," Mrs. Stevens comments. "What else could have happened to them?”

"They most likely are," I agree. “And they might have been killed by something unnatural.”

"Does that mean that we are next?"

Mrs. Stevens has tears in her eyes now. I know she's terrified that history will repeat itself, and that she too will become the victim of whatever is haunting this house. Moreover, she's horrified that her daughter's life might be destroyed forever.

My dad, touching base with strong and familiar ground again, reassures her by gripping her arm tight and comforting her in silence. Then I realize why he took me here, I can see it in his eyes. He worked on the previous case as a deputy, but was unable to solve the case. And I realize only now that he couldn’t solve it then because he didn’t have the background. He had no idea the supernatural existed and looked at it with a deputy’s eyes.

"I've explained to you what happened twenty years ago," he says to us all. "The McLain's bought this turn-of-the-century house, from an old American friend who moved to the West Coast. It needed remodeling, but Tom McLain was a carpenter and decided to do everything himself.”

I nod, knowing what is about to come next.

“During the renovation, he claimed to have freed some sort of spirit,” dad explains. “After that, strange things happened in the house. Mrs. McLain had several small accidents and the children were often in danger too. After three months or so, they'd had enough. Mrs. McLain, who was a rich heiress, decided to sell the house again and return to the Boston

Area, where she came from. Before that happened, the entire family disappeared without a trace. The neighbors spotted something amiss after two days because the lights kept burning day and night, but and there was no activity in the house. Not a trace could be found of them and the family never showed up again."

"Nobody vanishes without a trace," I state. “There is some trace, a relic, something that binds them to this house, dad. You know that, we’ve seen that with m –“ I stop, seeing the parents’ gaze on me.

"Well this family did vanish without a single trace, Stiles,” dad says patiently. “We dug up their yard, we traced their records, bank accounts, everything. They were just gone.”

"But Wendy drew their images on the wall," I say. "You know it’s them, we compared what she drew with the latest photo of them. So she is not possessed by the old entity that was responsible for the first vanishing, but by one or more ghosts of the McLain's. The truth behind their disappearance must lie in this house, dad. What if Wendy is trying to get to the bottom of this through them? What if they use her as a vessel to uncover the truth about their deaths?”

"Or, perhaps it's a sign that we're all going to die too," Mrs. Stevens blurts out, as she bursts into tears. "I'm terrified, I can't stay here any longer! But we can’t even leave as long as we’re not able to get our daughter out of that room.”

"My wife’s right," Mr. Stevens replies coldly, gripping his wife tightly. "We are in danger, aren't we? What do we do, how do we get Wendy out of this alive and whole?”

"I don't know," dad says truthfully, looking at me for help. "I think it would be wise to take this family to a hotel for the time being, Stiles, while we do a proper investigation of the house with the help of our friends. What do you think?”

I know he’s thinking about the pack, but Lydia foremost, and I nod, even though I’m afraid to have her Banshee skills loose in this place. It might really get her off kilter, it might really rattle her brain. But we have to do it. I’m not keen on getting Scott to go into the girl’s mind right now, as it will probably damage Wendy.

"Just one more thing," I say, directing myself to Mr. Stevens, "why did your daughter claim you are responsible for the ghosts?"

"Oh, we dug up some old pictures from the McLain's while doing our own renovation," he says. "I accidentally burned some of them with the rest of their old things. Since then all this started, as if I opened some sort of black hole to the darkness.”

"Do you have other photos left?" I ask.

"Sure, I can get them if you want."

"Much appreciated,” dad says.

As Mr. Stevens walks back up to the house, the door to the neighbor's house opens, and a man in his sixties or seventies steps out. He looks tired and walks with a cane. Jack raises his hand and waves at the man. He waves back, and retreats onto his back porch.

"That's our new neighbor," Mrs. Stevens explains wearily. "He doesn't like our house very much, says he can sense the danger. Good thinking huh, buying this house so cheap? I should have known there was a catch. We could have built a new place with my inheritance, but instead found this one so charming, we just had to renovate it. And look what we did to our little girl.”

"It's not your fault, Mrs. Stevens," dad replies calmly, placing his hand on the woman's shoulder. "It's no one's fault. We’ll take care of this.”

"Then why do I have a possessed daughter and a house from hell?" she mutters.

"Your daughter may not possessed," I reassure her, "and we will help her. I know some people who have experience with this sort of thing. Someone who can help us get in touch with the darkness that is in here. I swear we won’t let Wendy be hurt like that.”

A loud cry from within the house startles us all. God no, I think, as we run up to the house, afraid to see whatever has happened in there. Suddenly we're standing shocked in the hallway, Mrs. Stevens crying out.

Lying on the bottom of the staircase is the body of Jack Stevens. He's lying on his stomach, one arm underneath him and the other next to him. His eyes are open, but he is alive and still breathing.

"Call an ambulance!" dad shouts and immediately takes charge of the situation, trying to get the man into a comfortable position. I look up to find the girl standing on the bottom of the basement staircase, her eyes directed at us. They are sad and filled with tears.

"I told you they were angry," she says and slams the door, shutting us out very effectively.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much again for commenting and following!

**Chapter Three**

 

Wendy is a girl under the influence of something stronger; something more powerful than any of us, and all has to do with the history of this house. That’s what I tell Lydia when I explain the situation we’re in. She promises to come over straight away and try to help, but she’s out of town with her mom, going on a long overdue shopping trip to get things for her dorm.

Then I call Scott and Kira and tell them about what’s going on, and do the same with Derek, whom I hope might give some advice. Malia is out of reach, but I know she won’t be able to help much. We need Banshee powers for this one.

“Do you want me to come over?” both Scott and Derek as, but I tell them that we’re fine for now and that I’ll get back in touch in case we need them. Derek sounds concerned, but doesn’t comment on the fact I told him I won’t need them for now. There’s nothing much a werewolf can deal with in this situation, to be honest.

As I have explained before: in order to find the present, we must go to the past. And the past, in this case, is the family history of the McLain's, the four people who vanished from this house. But first, in order to help the girl, we must get her out of that room, and away from all he influences that haunt her. That is my job, while dad is dealing with the accident that put Mr. Stevens into the hospital.

Nothing helps to get her to leave the room, no promises or threats, no cries and screams from her mother, and the fact that her father is now in hospital having surgery to mend his broken arm and leg. He was very lucky: he could have easily broken his neck or back, but he didn't. It feels as if he had to get out of the way somehow.

The staircase shows that the two top steps are cracked, they could have fallen apart at any time. There was something very odd though: Underneath Mr. Stevens lay a stack of older photos. The box in which they sat rested against the wall, as if someone had taken them out of the box and shoved them underneath him. After they moved the unconscious onto a stretcher, and while Dad is trying to plead with the girl, I start picking the photos up and scanning them.

Then I send another text to Lydia to ask her to hurry up and get over here. There’s something very off about this whole thing. I see photos of a very happy family: father, mother and two children. They all laugh into the camera, obviously held by a friend or family member. Some photos featured mother and just kids; others had father and kids too, even though those were rare.

The woman seemed very nice, but sad. She has a friendly look about her, yet a fearful gaze in her eyes. I can't help but wonder if underneath that façade there was a lot more going on than just love and family life. Every family has its problems, so what was this family's secret?

Dad becomes frustrated and calls Parrish and other deputies to force the girl out once and for all with the help of her mother. We have no choice but to break open the basement room door and retrieve the young girl who kicks and screams, refusing to be removed.

She bites Parrish in his hand and doesn't listen to reason when Dad and her mother try to talk to her. She is furious with me, calls me names for doing this to her, which startles me. They finally sedate her and take her to hospital. Her mother goes with her, while Parrish, at request of my dad, takes care of the paperwork.

Dad and I are left alone inside the house, the chills still running down our spines. Lydia sends me a text saying she’s on her way and will pick up Derek and Scott for extra protection.

 _Be careful_ , she sends me. _Something’s off._

"There’s something inside this place that creeps me out,” my dad says, glancing around. “We should get the hell out of here too.”

“That won’t solve the issue, Dad,” I react. “This will not go away. This is pure anger that resides in here, and we have to stop it somehow.”

"And what now?" my father asks when he walks over to the wall where the family's picture is. "How to proceed next? Wait for Lydia outside?”

“She’s on her way, but I want to make sure she’s safe too, Dad. In meantime, we could try to find out what they want, so we’re not putting her in any danger,” I say, taking a look around the basement floor where the child had her improvised bedroom by own choice.

Dad reluctantly walks upstairs first and I shut the mangled basement door, somehow hoping to leave the darkness in there. That particular room seems to draw the evil more intensely, but why?

We sit in the kitchen where Dad makes some coffee. I sort out the photos and place them in stacks on the table. A pounding on the door startles us, sending my dad almost into a frenzy. As I walk to the entrance, I see Derek standing there. Relieved, I show him in.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Thought you might need some help and insights on this family,” he says. “My mother was friends with them, I barely knew them but I can tell you some things that might help, from what she told me.”

“That would be great,” Dad says, happy to see Derek back in town.

They’ve become friends quite easily, now that Dad knows that not all werewolves are bad and their skills can be of use. Derek smiles at me and takes a seat while Dad pours him some coffee. The older werewolf is the only one I told about my plans to become an Emissary and he commented by saying I would do very well.

"They're all mixed up, but I'm sure we'll get a good overall image of the family,” I say, showing Derek the photos. “What do you remember about them?”

"They were decent people," the werewolf says, "even though the dad was a bit of a weirdo. I was still a kid when they vanished, but old enough to remember them. We came here a couple of times because they had problems with the house. They claimed it was possessed, but nobody believed them of course. So my mother, Talia, worked with them on finding out what was going on. You know my mother had a reputation for the occult, right?” he asks Dad.

“I remember that. How odd was that man then?" my dad asks. “I never met them in person.”

"He spent most of his time in the city, even though he was a carpenter,” Derek says. “According to my mom, he worked on huge construction buildings too, because the big money was there. She wasn't too happy with it, because she had enough money to support them for a lifetime, thanks her very rich family. She would have preferred it if he had just stayed here all the time."

"So, the husband had no money and the wife had it all?" I ask.

"Yep."

"Could he have killed her for it?" Dad asks, following my hint.

"I don't see how,” Derek says. “He just had to ask to get anything he wanted. She adored him, and they did seem happy enough. They were laughing and joking a lot, I remember that.”

"But it could be a possibility?" Dad asks.

"If he did do it, he would have had to pull a great Houdini," I say. "Besides, what good would it have done him, Dad? He still wouldn't have her money. At least being married to her, he could benefit from it. She would have been more valuable to him alive.”

"That's true all right,” Dad frowns.

I flip through the photos. Most of the man's faces are kind of blurry. It's difficult to make out what he really looked like. Assuming they were killed by an entity, their bodies would have to be buried in, or around the house somewhere. Even ghosts can't make corpses vanish.

"At Disneyland," Dad reads out loud, turning some photos around as we move them around the table. "Cape Canaveral. Cape Cod. At the old house."

Suddenly I freeze.

"What is it?" Dad asks, seeing my expression.

I show him the photo of Ellie McLain. The girl, resembling Wendy Stevens in more ways than one, is shown laughing into the camera. She wears a T-shirt with a Duck on it and letters that say _Dance with Me_. It is exactly the same Wendy was wearing earlier.

"That's her connection to the spirits," I exclaim. "That T-shirt, Dad, it belonged to Ellie McLain. She must have found it amongst their old, forgotten things. That's the key to this, I’m sure.”

“So if she gets that off, the connection is over?” Dad asks.

“That’s her relic. Can you call her mom and ask if she still has it?”

Dad’s call to Mrs. Steven is short and explanatory. The woman sends them a photo of Wendy resting in a hospital bed. The girl is totally out of it, finally calmed down by her mother and the nursing staff. The woman holds up the T-shirt that Wendy wore, taken off by the nursing staff after a struggle with the girl.

It's definitely the same one as I saw on the photograph, which Derek confirms too.

Wendy’s mother confirms that the girl found the T-shirt in a box in one of the cupboards and never left it out of sight since. Her erratic behavior started immediately afterwards.

“If I can scent it, I can make out of there are different smells of different people on it,” he says, “but I have no doubt this will contain that other girl’s old smell too, if there’s anything left of it.” I wonder what else has been left behind as evidence to the family's legacy.

"She constantly talks about someone named Ellie," Mrs. Stevens explains nervously on the phone and in tears. "I don't know who that is, she doesn't have any friends with that name. I cannot understand any of this. I think we're going crazy! But I know that I'll never go into that house again, it doesn't belong to us. I don't care if it costs us all our life savings to find another one, but I’m not moving back there.”

"Has she said anything else?" I ask, trying not to force the woman too much. She's upset and agitated as it is. Pushing her over the edge will only destroy what's left of the family's sanity.

"No, she just keeps on talking about that Ellie, and the wall. And she said that ‘dad was in the house'. She hated it that ‘dad was back'. But her father is still in recovery. He wouldn't be able to leave this hospital if he wanted to. What does that mean?"

I look at Dad, building up a theory in my mind. I think I might have found the clues that we need, but we're a long way from freeing this family of their fears. Standing up, Dad paces the room and takes a look outside. The porch light is burning, as is the one of the old neighbor's house. We can see a shadow of the man sitting relaxed on his sofa. He's smoking a pipe and doesn't seem to care for us. Dad hardly pays attention to him. I switch on all the lights in the house, glancing at my watch. Lydia will be here in about fifteen minutes. Derek makes some food and starts setting up plates.

Dad smiles. "Afraid of the dark, Stiles?"

"No," I say, "and if I'm right, I don't think that the Stevens family should be either."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do explain what you mean with that cryptic sentence, son.”

The photos lying on the kitchen table are of the family smiling at us, but I know there's more now. I could tell it the first time we touched them, saw them. They too represent the fear of being in this haunted house, of being surrounded by apparitions that need solace.

We had the images stacked by genre. Most family photos had a short referral message on them, like ‘Cape Canaveral’ and ‘Cape Cod’, but what about the others? I didn't study the back of any of the other pictures, forgetting about them when we found the Duck-photo. What if there is a message on them too?

After the Ghost Riders and trying to explain to myself and the pack what happened to us then, I read up on a ghost case where a priest exorcized a Victorian house in Boston. A family found some photos of the people who used to live there, and on the back it had messages like _‘Dad killed mom, and he's going to kill me too.’_ A couple of months later, the whole family was inexplicably

But twenty-five years after those facts, it helped trace the truth on one of the most horrid murder cases ever, when another family went through the same it turned out that the second set of killings were not caused by ghosts, but humans. The family’s father had used the original ghost case to cover up his murders.

Boston … Peter McLain came from Boston too. What if he used that same story to pull this off? What if he turns out to be the killer after all? Maybe that’s why she put the X on his face, maybe that’s what she tried to tell us.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Dad asks, when I fidget with my fingers and start tensing up, trying to align the photos with the idea building up in my head.

“He’s thinking,” Derek points out. “He’s somewhere else.”

“No, I’m not,” I mutter, the puzzle coming together in my mind.

"Then share your insights with us, kid,” Dad reprimands me, seeing me think at a thousand miles per hour. “You haven't said a word about your theory and I want to know how we can release these entities, or whatever the hell they are without getting anyone hurt. Your expertise in the matter could come in handy right now. Emissary stuff or not, I don’t care about that right now, we’ll talk about that later. Just let me know what I need to do right now.”

I turn to him and Derek, seeing the amused gaze on the werewolf’s face. Perhaps he’s mocking me, or maybe he’s thinking back to the old days, when Talia Hale was still alive and in need of her own Emissary. Either way, he listens intently as I explain.

"Dad, Mr. Stevens said all of this started when he accidentally burned a photo of the family McLain, remember? A lot of experts theorize that the start of an entity's attack lies in the destruction of a valuable object, one that is of personal interest to them and too important to be destroyed, in this case, a photo. But what if those photos carry an even greater secret?"

Frantically I start turning over the photos and tap my fingers on them, scanning them as much as I can. They’re old and tattered, with dirty edges and backs.

“Look for words in any form,” I say, shoving a stack into Derek’s and Dad’s hands, who immediately both do as I say. I switch on more lights to get a better view on the backsides of the images.

Suddenly we see it: Some of photo backs have writing on them. Sometimes one, sometimes many words, but never a full phrase. It all begins to make sense, when we spread out all the photos upside down, across the table.

"It's a puzzle, Dad, look at this," I exclaim excited.

Dad stares at me in awe, suddenly wondering perhaps who the hell that kid is he raised. Derek only smiles more.

“Good to see you’ve kept your deductive look on things, Stiles. Some things never change.”

The werewolf starts working on the images before we can act. I watch how his fingers swiftly go through the pictures, until we have several possible sentences formed. And the one marked ‘At Cape Canaveral’-messages suddenly make sense.

_"Daddy hit mommy at Cape Cod."_

_"Daddy is upset."_

_"Daddy is angry."_

_"Daddy kills."_

"I think ‘daddy' is still alive," I say slowly as Dad turns the photos over behind the phrases, only to reveal they are connected too, as they all show the relationship between the couple. Now that we know the truth, we can see it in their eyes. His anger and hatred, her fear. We figured it out. Almost.

"Daddy killed mommy, he killed his children, and he got away with it,” Derek mutters angrily, upset that nobody ever saw this before. His mother missed it, the police department missed it, nobody knew about it.

"So where is the rest of the family then?" Dad asks. “Where did he leave them?”

"Buried in the basement," I say without hesitation. "Wanna bet? The ghosts aren't angry with _us_ for being here, they're angry because their killer is still alive and out there somewhere and we haven’t been able to figure this out before. That’s why Wendy is drawn there too, she’s closest to the entities in that improvised room she set up herself.”

I rush out of the kitchen before Dad and Derek can stop me and head down the staircase into the basement bedroom that now belongs to Wendy Stevens, created by the girl after she got her hands on the T-shirt.

Derek, Dad and I stop dead when the coldness returns. However, it's not filled with anger this time. There is something else. A relief, that we realize the truth. Lydia would be so proud.

“Lydia can confirm this in a few minutes,” I say, “she’s with Scott and Malia right now, they’re here in five.”

“Stiles.” Derek grabs my arm.

“I’m sure that she’ll sense it,” I continue hastily, looking around.

“Stiles!” Derek stops my verbal diarrhea by clawing into my arm.

“What?”

“Look.”

He turns me to face the wall that has pictures hanging on them. Photos that seem to move, drawing our attention. And then we see it at our feet. We stare to the ground where – as if waiting for us – faces appear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the comments and kudos for this story! Much appreciated!

**Chapter Four**

"My god," Dad whispers, placing his hand over his mouth in shock as the three of us stare down at the faces, which seem embedded, almost engraved in the stone floor underneath our feet. They are so clear as if someone has printed a photo on them. We can see the faces for a moment before they fade again back to the stone.

There are three faces. Not four. Confirmed.

I study the wall again. Wendy marked the father's face with an X. So he _is_ still alive. But then why would revenge follow only now?

"Let's have the house sealed," Dad says frantically. "I'll call in help to dig up the bodies."

I laugh suddenly.

"What?" my father asks.

"Good thing you're already used to weird things happening in Beacon Hills, Dad," I grin wryly. “You’d be calling me nuts otherwise.”

Derek snorts audibly, while Dad smiles, pats my back and leaves the room to make his calls upstairs. I sink down on the bed and look at the faces on the ground. They vanish slowly and I smile, to Derek’s surprise, as he watches me intently.

“You enjoy this,” he remarks gently, “helping out others.”

“I do,” I say. “It feels good.”

“It’s amazing what you did just now, Stiles. You’ll make an excellent Emissary.”

I look at surprised at his compliment, realizing then that the time where he used to slam me around, is long gone. After Cora, the Nogitsune and what happened with Kate, he has come to trust and appreciate me. I like that.

“Thank you,” I say. “And I’d love to be yours too, if you’d willing to let me.”

“I’d like that,” he speaks warmly, patting my shoulder.

We hear car doors slam, alerting us to the fact the others are here.

“I’ll go get them,” he says, turning to leave me alone in the basement.

As soon as he leaves, I crawl on all fours on the ground, touching the basement floor gently, as if I can touch their faces.

"It's okay now, we found you," I gently, knowing they can hear me. "It's over and we'll find him too, I promise. You’re in good hands now.”

A new peace enters the room and surrounds me like a blanket. Suddenly this place doesn’t feel creepy anymore. It feels better. I walk to the small basement window, overlooking the grassy meadow stretching past the house. You can almost see the neighbor's porch from here, but the old man’s not there. Lights are on in his house, I can see right through the living room. There are binoculars on the table.

My mind pulls a switch, jumps into alarm. It's him. When they picked up Mr. Stevens, I got a good glimpse of the old man’s face. He was standing on his porch, watching us. He didn’t resemble the old photos at all, but those eyes were very piercing and cold, just like the ones on the photographs. You can change your face a thousand times, but you can never change the true colors of an eye.

The slam of a door, followed by a hard grunt and a lot of noise, startle me. It sounds as if all the windows are being shut at the same time, as if someone’s blocking the house from the outside, as if something’s out there doing something to the house.

I hear voices shout, people cry out our names from the outside. They can’t get in, none of our friends are able to get inside the house, which means that we are trapped inside as well! Oh god.

“Dad, Derek!”

I take two steps at a time on the concrete staircase going up, noticing that several lights upstairs have been switched off. In the living room, I can see Dad lying on his side, out cold. Derek is down in the hallway, just as quiet as Dad.

Noises startle me, I’m not alone. Frantically I run across the hallway and head for the front door where Scott is pounding hard on the wood with both fists, calling out my name.

“Scott!” I shout.

“Stiles!” he shouts back.

I hear Lydia shout out my name too, telling Scott we’re in big trouble. I’m nearly at the door, stopped when something smacks me hard and soundly on the side of the face. Whatever it is, it leaves me dazed and with a huge gash on my temple, knocking the wind out of me. I stay down, unable to move from the daze.

“Stiles, Stiles, can you hear me?” I hear Lydia shout, pouncing the door. “Stiles, are you okay?”

I’m not. I’m far from okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the relatively short chapter last time, but this is a lengthy one - the next one is an epilogue, and I'll post that pretty soon.  
> Thanks again for following!

**Chapter Five**

An old man with a cane steps into the light. He raises the object as a weapon. In his face I notice nothing of the Tom McLain he once was, this person is totally different, a shadow of the father he used to be. Nobody can get the doors and windows open, the full house is on lockdown. I hear my friends’ frantic attempts to open the doors and know there are paranormal powers at work here.

We made an error by staying here. I have difficulty remaining conscious while the old man steps over my legs and glares at me with a harsh, cold look in his eyes. I'm still numbed by the blow to the head, unable to move, or defend myself.

"I planned on drowning her in the bathtub," the old man gruffly tells me. "Or being accidentally electrocuted in the garage. Instead, the nosy bitch started threatening to divorce me, because I wasn't nice enough to her and the kids. You do understand I couldn't allow her to live after that, especially since I depended on her.”

I listen quietly, knowing he’ll kill me after this confession. In silence, I will my friends to listen in and nail the son of a bitch after we’re dead. Oh dad. I try to glance at my unmoving father, praying he’s not gone. If I can keep his attention on me, Scott might be on time to save Dad and Derek.

“I took all the money I could get my hands on while spreading the rumor that ghosts were threatening us,” he continues. “I waited long enough without arousing suspicion, while listening to her constant whining about our failing marriage, and then killed her and the brats with a sledgehammer. They weren't mine anyhow, I adopted them only because I had planned on killing her first. It was the only way to get my hands on their money too.”

I swallow my fear, listening to his cold story on what he did to those poor kids.

“Burying them was the easy part, the floors were ready for replacement and I had already fetched enough wood for the isolation layer. Then it was just a matter of burying them and covering them up, which took me little over six hours. You know that it shouldn't even have had to happen? I offered her a truce, told her I wouldn't kill her, if she would just hand over her money. She refused, sealing her own fate.”

I swallowed away my pain, trying to remain conscious throughout the haze.

"W- Why ba –"? I stumble dazed, unable to speak properly. I taste my own blood and know I’m in pretty bad shape. Concussed most likely, probably a lot worse. If I pass out, I might slip into a coma. Another blow to the head will kill me for sure. I no longer hear my friends, knowing they are trying to get in through other means. I have to buy time so they can save Dad and Derek. They are all I can think about right now.

"Why back in town?"

I nod. The old man sighs, suddenly appearing less cold as before.

"I dream about them constantly. Even after twenty years, they're always there, in my dreams, my daytime hours, everywhere I go. Despite all the surgery I got to alter my face, a new marriage and new kids, they're still out there. So I never moved away too far, out of guilt perhaps, I don’t know. Nobody knew who I was anyone, they all thought I was long dead.”

I try to move, finding myself shivering with cold anxiety. In shock. Not good. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“And when I heard someone finally bought the old house, I knew it was just a matter of time before they would come back to haunt me for real. I admit that at first my curiosity drove me back here. I wanted to see the new family, to know that kind of people they were. I came in here a few times when they were gone. She was always so careless with her backdoor. I knew I had to get them out of here, afraid they would find the bodies."

I touch the tiles with my fingers, forcing myself to stay calm, imagining Scott and Lydia figuring a way inside this haunted hell.

He laughs bitterly. "I've lived just two blocks down for the past ten years, you know? I often came back at night to see the house, before the new family moved in, to sense if they are still here somewhere. I thought their souls had been put to rest after all these years, but I was wrong about that little girl with her haunted dreams. It wasn’t the new family that found them, it was you.”

I swallow my fear when he looks at me again with such anger in his eyes that I just know he’s through talking. This is it and Scott can’t get in, Derek is out cold and my dad is too hurt to move or respond.

"You shouldn't have butted in, kid,” he snarls. “It's your own fault I have to finish you now. I can't have you telling anyone about your discovery. I knew you would be smart enough to figure it out from the moment I saw you. Sorry, kid, this is nothing personal."

I stare horrified at the cane rising up in the air, ready to slam down one me with a whack, hard and vicious enough to send me into eternal oblivion. It’s over. As the object comes down, I will my body to react one last time. I roll on my side, unable to lift my head from the floor, but enough to avoid the cane. He grazes past me and slams hard on the ground, followed by a second whack that hurts my shoulder. I hear the cracking of a bone, followed by an excruciating pain that stabs my eyes.

The old crazy guy goes for the third round, still looming over me. Then he looks up and sees Derek coming out of it slowly, groaning as he tries to remember what happened. The old man kicks me against the face with his foot and I close my eyes, fighting off the nausea that surges through me, as I fight the darkness.

He leaves me be and goes for Derek, grabbing him by the sleeve and forcing him down on his back. He raises his cane again, ready to kill him off. I force myself to crawl into the living room and reach for Dad’s gun, lying motionless on the floor. I manage to shift my left hand, until my fingers connect with dad’s weapon. I force myself to stay alert long enough to aim the weapon at his upper body.

"D – Don't -!" I hear myself say. “Please, don’t.”

The man turns and sees me. He ignores me, going back to Derek, believing I won’t have the guts to do it. I shoot him once. He falls backwards as the bullet hits the flesh of his upper right leg.

After making a little leap, he drops the cane. Our attacker ends up on the ground, still breathing, but hurt. I want to crawl to Derek and Dad and help them, but I'm so weak that I can't do a damn thing anymore. So I just stay down, as I call out their names in a hiss.

I see Tom McLain opening his eyes again – because I obviously just wounded him – and stare at the ceiling. The pounding on the door begins again. I realize we are still trapped in supernatural hell, locking everyone in, or out.

The old man startles and holds his breath, knowing now why he is trapped. He sees what I see: A black cloud entering the living room, swirling down over him, surrounding and consuming him alone.

The cloud leaves Dad and Derek alone. It is entirely made of entities, of creatures, ghosts, whatever you may call it. They are everywhere and they are angry. The old man cries out.

"No! Theresa, no, I didn't mean to - ! Don't touch me…! Don't –!"

The cloud is all over him now, smothering his body. I manage to sit up straight, leaning heavily against the cabinet behind me, my blood all over the place. I then crawl further into the living room, towards Dad who is gathering his dazed thoughts as he slowly wakes up. Derek moves at the same time, catching my sight.

“Derek,” I stumble. “H-help D-Dad. Open the door.”

The werewolf knows immediately what I’m trying to say and stumbles for the front door, past the dark cloud that hovers over the old man. I’m ready to puke my guts out by now, but I need to get my act together for Dad’s sake, who is moving in and out of consciousness. By the time I reach my father, the cloud is gone. In fact, the house suddenly feels very empty. And calm.

The door is thrown open and Scott, Lydia, Malia and Kira move inside. Sirens are heard in the back, Scott and Malia have their claws out, but there’s no point. No werewolf can fix this, as I have mentioned before. And there is no need to fix anything anymore, as it’s all over.

Before us on the ground lies McLain's body. This time I want to throw up right there. The man’s body is rid of all clothing, flesh and skin. All that is left is pure muscle and nerve and intestines and organs. Only his face has remained intact, as if he’s wearing some gruesome suit. His eyes stare into nothingness with an expression of pain and fear.

I look at Dad and he looks back at me in shock, worried and upset.

“Dad, I don’t feel so good,” I mutter and I sink forward, falling deeper and deeper, with my mind trying to reach a place where there is only blessed pain free sleep.

“Stay with me, Stiles,” my dad says, holding me close against him. “Stiles? Don’t pass out, you hear? Stiles!”

I wish I could do just that, but I can’t. It’s too hard to stay awake.

“He’s badly hurt,” I hear Dad say to my friends. Then I’m gripped tight into his arms, staring at Lydia, who is trying not to scream.

“You’ll be fine,” Dad says. “You hear me, Stiles?”

“I hear you,” is the last thing I say.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for following this story! If you liked it, please drop me a line.  
> If you have suggestion for these supernatural / paranormal investigation series, let me know. thanks!

**Epilogue**

 

Wendy Stevens places flowers on the new grave that holds three bodies. The remains of Tom McLain have been buried in another cemetery far from this one. His new family refused to pay for it. The town however, adopted the grave of the victims and vowed to remember them. Wendy's father is currently in a wheelchair, his leg and arm mending properly, his eyes on the grave.

"I still believe I was protected by Theresa and the children," he told me yesterday, when Dad and I came to visit him at the house, now at peace. "I fell after I was pushed by someone I couldn’t see, and then I was held back by something. But they couldn't hold me enough no to fall. I didn’t feel they were the enemy, they were saving me from that guy with the cane.”

“I know,” I said. “I felt it too.”

Dad smiled at me then, knowing what I meant. He’s been taking care of me ever since I got out of the hospital two days ago, after a three-day stint. I still suffer from post-concussion headaches and dizzy spells, but they're getting better all the time.

I woke up at the hospital with Dad by my side, promising that he would never put me in such danger again. I told him that I chose to go with him and that I had no regrets. We helped this family after all, we saved people with what we did!

Dad still has the bruises to prove that Tom McLain made a nasty swing at him, having too much strength for a man his mature age. Derek of course healed without a scar. While I was unconscious, he told the others everything. I’m so happy he’s back.

We say goodbye to the family, who have vowed, despite its history, not to leave the house, but to make it a happy home again, just as Theresa McLain had intended it to be. The graves are gone, as is the drawing in the basement room, which will never be used as a bedroom again. They have no fear now, because the anger has vanished. If there is something like peace for ghosts, they have finally found it.

"So," Dad says as we step into the car. He gently helps me in. “Watch a movie? Get something to eat? Just name it, Stiles, what do you want to do now?"

"There's this new place in town," I smile wickedly. "The Haunted Diner. Wanna check it out? Apparently it has real ghosts.”

If looks could kill, I'd definitely be a dead man right about now.


End file.
